


Fangs and Claws

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale's Loft, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Gentle Kissing, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Injury, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Neck Kissing, Not From Or By Derek or Stiles, One Shot, Rough Kissing, Sharing Clothes, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles is a vampire that never really cared about the people he bit or killed—until he met Derek, that is.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 19
Kudos: 242
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	Fangs and Claws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvanesDust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/gifts).



The night air was cold, but it’d been so long since he’d felt it against his skin. The abysmally dark sky was lit with stars, the pale face of the moon staring down at them.

The two stood in the dark alleyway, shrouded from the outside world.

Warm blood dribbled down his chin, the man’s body growing heavier as they weakened in his arms. He felt the heat of the man’s blood fill him, warming him for just a moment and filling him with a brief nostalgia of what it had felt like to be alive.

He heard the man’s breathing grow fainter, the look of ecstasy on his face weakening as the colour began to drain from his face. The flow of blood began to slow as his pulse faded.

The man let out one last weak breath before falling completely still.

Stiles drew back, running his tongue across his lips as he savoured the thick, metallic taste of blood that lingered in his mouth. He stepped back, letting the man’s body crumble to the ground, hitting the uneven tiles of the alleyway with a sickening _thud_.

He looked down at the man in disgust, a twisted smile lifting the corners of his lips as he ran his tongue across his fangs.

He heard footsteps nearby and turned to see a large figure standing at the end of the alley way, his silhouette backlit by the glow of the streetlight. He stood still, his hands buried in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want?” he said, irritation and disgust adding a sharp edge to his voice.

The silhouette took a step forward, their eyes ignited with a threatening crimson glow.

Stiles’ eyes lit up in response, his usually dark brown irises glowing with a burgundy hue as he levelled the ‘wolf with an unimpressed look.

“You can’t keep killing people,” the alpha said, his deep husky voice carried through the shadows.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He used the sleeve of his hooded jacket to wipe the blood off his chin before turning to face the newcomer.

“I’m three hundred years old,” Stiles said. “I stopped caring about morality somewhere along the line.”

The man didn’t flinch.

“If you’re here to fight me—”

“I’m here to get you to stop,” the alpha said with finality. “One way or another.”

“What? You’re hoping we can come to a compromise?” Stiles scoffed.

He took another step towards the wolf, the light shifting to reveal the man’s face.

His raven-black hair was tousled by the night breeze, his strong jaw shadowed by the thin scruff of a beard, and his pale aventurine eyes were focused on Stiles.

“I’m hoping we could be civil about this,” he said.

Stiles screwed up his face.

“You have hunters on your trail,” the ‘wolf warned him. “And the more bodies you leave behind, the closer they get to you.”

“I’ve evaded hunters for centuries,” Stiles said dismissively.

“I wouldn’t underestimate the Argents if I were you,” he warned.

“Oh? Is that so?” Stiles asked.

He took another step closer, jolting as something tore through his body.

Stiles blinked in surprise.

He looked down at himself, taking in the sight of the crossbow bolt that jutted out of his side. The rush of pain followed, the searing agony flooding through him as he doubled over.

Blood seeped from the wound, droplets of crimson splattering across the pavement.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed under his breath.

His eyes fluttered as he tried to steady himself. He blinked against the haze which swept over the world. He could only hear his breath as it rolled through his lungs, his blood thumping against his ears.

The ‘wolf spun around, searching the shadows.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ arm and pulling him down the street.

Stiles’ legs pedalled beneath him, making him stumble and stagger behind the man as he let the stranger drag him down the street and over to a car.

The man hauled open the door and ushered Stiles inside, quickly skirting around the hood before jumping into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, the car’s engine roaring to life.

Stiles was thrown back as the car tore away from the curb and down the street.

He let out a measured breath, trying to ignore the worried looks the man sent his way.

Stiles straightened up in his seat, leaning back against it as he tightened his jaw and curled his hand around the shaft of the bolt.

He drew in a deep breath, bracing himself, and pulled the arrow from his side.

“Holy shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth, the rush of pain making him shudder and his eyes flash with colour.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the wolf scolded.

“Well, it’s not going to heal if the bolt is still in me,” Stiles retorted.

They drove through the empty streets and towards the isolated part of the town where manufacturing plants and old workhouses had been abandoned for years.

The glass of the streetlamps were clouded and muddy, the old bulbs strobing and flickering as they struggled to hold onto life. The surrounding buildings were decrepit: old workshops and industrial buildings, some in ruins – with buckling walls, crumpled bricks and streams of water coursing through the rubble like ravines - and others were just abandoned and tagged with crude sprawls of spray-paint.

The building they were looking for stood tall among the rest, old but not the least bit damaged.

It was a huge, intimidating industrial brown-brick building that stood at least ten storeys high; high enough to look over the entirety of Beacon Hills.

The wolf parked the car out the front of the building, turning off the engine and letting the roar die off into the quiet of the night.

“Come on,” he said as he climbed out of the car.

Stiles drew in a measured breath and reluctantly followed.

The ‘wolf made his way over to the large double doors that marked the entrance, disabling the alarm and stepping inside.

Stiles limped after him, holding his wounded side. He stopped before the threshold, looking at the man.

“What?” the man asked.

“Seriously?” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at him as he tried to work out if he was messing with him or if he genuinely didn’t know.

The man’s brow furrowed, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Stiles asked.

“Enjoying what?”

 _He genuinely doesn’t know_ , Stiles realised.

“You have to invite me in,” Stiles told him.

“What?”

Stiles’ jaw tensed, his frustration and anger made worse by the blood loss.

“I cannot enter a building unless I’m invited it,” he clarified.

“Oh,” the wolf said. “Uh, please come in?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Good enough.”

He stepped over the threshold and into the large lobby of the partially renovated building.

“Follow me,” the wolf said, heading for the winding staircase that led up to the higher floors.

Stiles did as he was told, holding onto the rail as he pulled himself up the stairs. He could feel his body weakening, his stomach growling and his mouth salivating as his hunger grew.

“I’m Derek, by the way,” he said as they climbed.

“Stiles,” he replied.

Derek led him up to the loft, pulling open the heavy iron sliding door.

Stiles stepped into the open space.

“Take a seat,” Derek said as he shut the door. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Stiles reluctantly sat down on the couch, feeling his energy drain as he let his head fall back against the cushion, lolling to one side as he looked out the large windows at the starry sky.

Derek came out of the bathroom a moment later, carrying a small first aid kit. He set it down on the small coffee table, pulling out sterilising wipes and gauze before lifting the hem of Stiles’ blood-soaked shirt.

His pale flesh had been torn by the bolt, streams of blood coursing across his side.

Derek carefully cleaned the wound, flinching whenever Stiles hissed or jolted from the pain. He turned back to the first aid kit, pulling out a needle and thread and making quick work of stitching up Stiles’ wound before taping the gauze in place.

Once he was done, he stepped back and cleared everything away.

Stiles felt his stomach tense. He doubled over, wincing in pain as he clutched his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, his voice full of worry.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Stiles said.

“Why not?”

“When a vampire is wounded, they need blood to heal,” Stiles explained, drawing in breaths through gritted teeth. “I’ve lost enough blood that I’m on the verge of bloodlust.”

“I can’t let you go, not if you’re going to kill more people,” Derek said.

“I don’t think you’ll have a choice,” Stiles told him, his eyes burning burgundy as he glared up at him.

“What if we make a deal?” Derek proposed. “I can heal faster than a human can. You can drink my blood on the condition you don’t go after any more humans. Deal?”

Stiles looked up at him. He let out a sigh. “Deal.”

Derek sat down on the couch beside him, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch.

The bloodlust was setting in; Stiles could hear the man’s pulse, he could smell the blood in his veins.”

“You have to stop before you kill me,” Derek reminded him.

“I know,” Stiles replied, his voice tense.

Derek unbuttoned the top of his Henley and pulled the fabric away from his neck. He tilted his head slightly, exposing his throat.

Stiles hesitated, realising how much trust the ‘wolf had in him. There was nothing stopping him from killing Derek and going on a bloody rampage through Beacon Hills, and yet Derek trusted him to keep his word.

Stiles let out a small sigh, leaning forward and sinking his teeth into Derek’s throat.

The man drew in a sharp gasp as Stiles’ fangs tore into his skin, but it turned to a sigh of ecstasy as the endorphins flooded his veins. His pale aventurine eyes were blown black, his eyes fluttering slightly and his lips trembling with weak breaths.

Stiles felt the warmth of Derek’s blood flow into his mouth, relief filling him. He let out a sigh, feeling the tension and cravings subside.

Derek let out a euphoric moan as his hands fell against Stiles’ back, gently grasping at the fabric of his jacket.

Stiles expected him to push him away, but instead Derek arched towards him, inviting him closer.

It took every ounce of strength Stiles had to stay in control.

He drew back slowly, savouring the taste of the blood in his mouth. He swallowed hard, feeling the cravings subside and his wound began to heal.

Derek swayed slightly as he slumped on his side, resting against the back of the couch. His tan skin had paled, his cheeks flushed slightly as he tried to steady his breathing. His pupils were dilated but he struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind turning to cotton as the endorphins clouded his thoughts.

“You should rest,” Stiles said, his voice quiet and soft.

Derek hummed, still weary and unable to find his voice.

Stiles let out a sigh. He rose to his feet, pulling Derek’s arm over his shoulder and lifting the man to his feet. He ignored the burning pain in his side as he half-carried, half-dragged Derek over to the bed in the corner of the loft.

He laid the man down, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders.

Derek let out a sigh as he sank into his bed, his heavy eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion took its toll.

Stiles stayed by his side for a moment, watching as the puncture wounds on his throat healed over, leaving no trace.

After a while, he made his way back over to the couch, grabbing the blanket off the back of the sofa and draping it over himself as he lay down on the cushions. He lay on his back, staring out the large windows at the stars that filled the night sky.

Derek woke with a start as the sound of a gut-wrenching scream tore through the loft. He threw back the blankets and leapt to his feet just in time to see Stiles run from the lounge room into the small kitchenette.

Derek ran after him, sliding to a halt as he looked down at the hunched figure in the corner of the kitchen, trying to stifle his broken sobs.

Beneath the shadows that covered Stiles’ face, Derek could see the weeping, blistering burn across the side of Stiles’ face.

 _The sunlight_ , Derek realised, looking back out towards the lounge room that was lit in the golden glow of the morning light.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, crouching in front of Stiles.

“No,” Stiles hissed through gritted teeth.

Derek reached out to him. “Let me see.”

Stiles swatted away his hand.

“Let me see,” Derek insisted, sliding a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and gently turning his face.

Stiles let him, slowly lowering his arms to reveal the weeping welts that covered his face and the back of his shaking hands.

He hated the look of pain and pity that passed over Derek’s face.

“I’ve got burn cream and aloe vera,” Derek said, studying the burns on Stiles’ face. “It won’t help it heal any faster but it’ll take the sting off of it.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said quietly.

Derek’s eyes lingered on his face. Despite his heightened vision, he hadn’t gotten a good look at Stiles last night, and now that he was this close to him, he couldn’t help but look at him.

His dark hair was a tousled mess, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling as they caught the light. His skin was as pale as moonlight, but he did well to dress in obnoxiously clashing clothes to distract from it. Moles charted constellations across his skin like stars across the night sky. When he turned his head, Derek could see the faded pink scars of where he had first been bitten.

Even with the large burn on the side of his face, he looked fierce.

Stiles shifted under his gaze.

Derek forced himself to look away. He rose to his feet, picking up the first aid kit from where he’d set it aside on the island bench in the middle of the small kitchen. He fished out the burn cream and gauze before turning to get the aloe vera from the fridge, setting them down on the edge of the island counter.

“Help yourself,” he said before turning and leaving.

Stiles waited until his footsteps faded further away before dragging himself across the polished concrete floor. He grabbed the edge of the island and used it to pull himself up, feeling himself tremble as he struggled to stay upright.

He grabbed the aloe gel and began to treat the blistering raw wounds.

He could hear the swish of fabric from where Derek was out in the open lounge room, but he ignored it, at least until he noticed the space began to darken.

He finished bandaging up his hands and crept closer to the doorway.

The loft was in complete darkness aside from the small stream of light that came from the corner where Derek’s bed was.

He stepped into the space, looking to see Derek on a small ladder, pinning heavy blankets and makeshift curtains in place.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked over his shoulder at him, then back to the thick duvet he was pinning in place with clips. There was a hint of confusion in his voice – as if what he was doing wasn’t obvious – as well as a lighter note of pride as he said, “Making curtains.”

“Why?”

“Because sunlight hurts you,” Derek answered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why do you care?” Stiles asked, his voice edged with frustration.

“Because, believe it or not, I don’t care if you’re a vampire, a werewolf, a human, or whatever—I don’t like it when people get hurt.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“My bleeding heart,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Derek huffed, turning back to the duvet and fixing it in place.

Stiles let out a measured breath, swallowing his pride. His voice was quiet as he said, “Thank you.”

“There’s a bathroom over there,” Derek said, pointing at the far wall. “You can clean yourself up if you want. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

Stiles nodded and made his way over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He turned the shower on and waited for the water to rattle through the pipes. He stripped off his blood-soaked shirt and jacket, looking down at where the bolt had impaled him.

The wound had healed over, but it was still raw; the skin over the wound was pink and his side was still tender.

He looked up at the mirror, hoping for a second, he’d catch a glimpse of his reflection in order to see just how bad the burn was, but although they were also made with nickel and chromium, the silver backing to the mirror dispersed his image, leaving only the reflection of the bathroom as the steam began to fog up the bottom of the mirror.

Stiles stepped into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water caressed his skin. He looked down at the bottom of the shower, watching as swirls of water stained red disappeared down the drain.

He made sure to keep his bandaged hand out of the streaming water.

A short while later there was a knock at the door.

Derek cracked it open, just enough to reach in and set a pile of clothes down on the counter before shutting the door again.

Stiles finished showering, drying himself off and getting dressed.

Derek had left him a pair of jeans, a dusty blue Henley and a dark grey bomber jacket. They were a few sizes too big, but Stiles found that strangely comforting.

He stepped back out into the loft, breathing out a sigh of relief as he looked at the blocked out wall of windows.

There was a clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

Stiles crossed over, stepping into the small kitchen.

“How do you feel?” Derek asked, not looking over his shoulder.

“Better,” Stiles answered.

He crossed over to the kitchen island, lifting himself up and sitting on the countertop.

Derek turned to Stiles. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you must,” Stiles replied, somewhat resigned.

“How were you bitten?”

Stiles’ hand instinctively reached for his neck, his fingertips brushing across the faint pink scars.

“I was attacked,” Stiles answered, his voice quiet and his mind elsewhere. “The vampire who bit me was trying to raise an army. The next day, a hunter cut his head off. I ran away the first chance I got.”

“And when exactly did you lose your morality?” Derek asked, the sudden question startling Stiles.

“What?”

“You said last night that you lost your morality,” Derek reminded him. “I’m just curious about when, and why.”

Stiles let out a measured breath. He leant forward, bracing his arms against his knees as he stared down at the floor.

“Not at first. When I was first bitten, I knew someone who worked at a hospital,” Stiles told him. “He would sneak me out pints of blood that were close to their expiration date. But, one day, an earthquake struck the town; buildings caved in and the hospital was flooded with so many injured people that they couldn’t help them all. I told my friend that he should save the blood for them.”

“That was very… considerate of you,” Derek said.

“I suppose,” Stiles muttered. “But a second wave hit and he was trapped in a building as it came down on top of him. When rescuers pulled him from the rubble, he was dead.”

Derek was silent.

“I managed to make it a few weeks, hoping that if I went long enough that I could just starve myself to death—and this time I’d stay dead.”

“But it didn’t happen like that?” Derek guessed.

Stiles gestured at himself. “Clearly.”

“So what happened?”

“I was hiding in an alley when I saw this group of men picking on a boy because he was gay. They threw him to the ground and called him some rather cruel names as they beat him up. I tried to stay out of it, but the smell of his blood on the concrete sent me into a blood rage.”

Stiles sat back.

“I snapped their necks, tore open their throats, gutted them, and left them screaming and crying in fear. Hearing them beg me to let them live made me feel powerful, made me realise that I am what I am, and I can deny it all I want, but at the end of the day, I’m a monster. So I embraced that. I left my morality in that alley way and I never looked back.”

“What happened to the boy they were beating up?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I let him go.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a monster would do,” Derek pointed out, levelling Stiles with a look.

“Save your ‘You’re a vampire, not a monster’ speech for someone who cares,” Stiles snarked.

Derek let out a sigh.

Stiles could see in his face that he wanted to push further, to tell Stiles he wasn’t beyond redemption or absolution, but Stiles had lived too long—killed too many people—he knew what he was; a monster.

But he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t some part of him, deep down, that wanted to hear Derek say it.

“Is it true that different bloods taste different?” Derek asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. “A blood tends to have a stronger taste that can be quite unpalatable, B blood tends to be bitter, and O blood groups are sweet. You have O blood, by the way. But supernatural blood tastes… different. It’s hard to explain.”

He ran his hand down his face.

“I need sleep,” he muttered, sliding off the bench and dragging his feet across the floor.

“You’re welcome to take the bed,” Derek offered.

“Pass,” Stiles replied, sluggishly walking over to the couch and curling up on the cushions.

When he woke hours later, there was a blanket draped over him and a throw cushion nestled under his head like a pillow.

He looked over to where Derek sat on his bed, leaning into a thin strip of sunlight as he read an old hardcover book.

Stiles nestled into the warmth of the blanket, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips slightly.

Before Stiles knew it, he’d spent weeks at Derek’s. Derek had installed proper blackout curtains across the wall of windows that he pulled open once the sun had set so that they could look up at the stars.

Derek kept his word; he willingly offered himself to Stiles and let the vampire drink. And when the endorphins clouded his mind, Stiles took care of him.

As the days went by, Stiles began to stretch out the time between feedings, waiting until he was on the verge of bloodlust but still able to control himself enough that he wouldn’t hurt Derek or take it too far.

Derek noticed, but he pretended not to.

The longer they spent together, the more they got to know each other.

Bit by bit, Stiles felt the walls he’d spent centuries building up slowly crumble, until one day they toppled down completely.

Derek was getting ready for bed, foregoing the nightly argument over who should get the bed or the offers to share. Instead, he was lecturing Stiles about his attitude and what it would make others think about him.

“I don’t care what other people think about me,” Stiles argued. “I care what…”

“What?” Derek prompted.

“I care what you think of me,” he admitted.

Derek was taken back. “Why?”

“I don’t know why,” Stiles said, turning away from him. “I just… do.”

Derek turned to walk away, but stopped and turned to Stiles, his pale aventurine eyes studying him.

“I have a question for you,” he started.

Stiles looked up at him. “What?”

“If things had been different and you had a choice, would you have chosen not to kill anyone?”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but the words fell short of his lips. He shut his mouth, pursing his lips together as he dropped his gaze.

 _Yes_ , he thought.

Derek didn’t wait for an answer, he turned back to his sectioned off room, leaving Stiles sitting alone in the silence.

He felt the tears roll down his cheek before he realised he was crying, the tears falling from his chin and shattering across the polished concrete floors like glass.

“I never wanted this,” he said breathlessly, his voice barely audible, but Derek heard him.

The man turned back to Stiles, looking back at the figure that lay hunched over on the couch. He crossed back over to Stiles’ side.

Stiles looked up at him, his tear-filled eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His pale cheeks were dampened as his tears fell.

“I never wanted…” Stiles’ voice broke off as he drew in a broken breath, dropping his gaze o the floor again. “I never wanted to be a monster.”

Derek knelt in front of him, sliding a finger under his chin and gently coaxing him to look up. Derek’s heartbreak was reflected in his eyes.

“You’re not a monster,” he said softly.

“You don’t know,” Stiles said. “You don’t know the things I’ve done… How many people I’ve killed.”

Derek’s heart broke; Stiles was so broken.

Tears streamed down Stiles’ face.

“Tell me,” Derek started, his voice quiet and soft. “Why did you kill those men who were attacking the boy?”

“I told you, the smell of the kid’s blood sent me into a blood rage,” Stiles answered.

“But why did you kill _them_ , and not the kid?”

Stiles paused, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I felt sorry for him. He’d done nothing wrong.”

“And what about the guy the other night?” Derek asked. “Why did you go after him?”

Stiles thought back to the man in the alley.

“He’d been beating his son,” Stiles answered.

“Can you name a single person you killed who didn’t –in some way – deserve to be punished?” Derek asked.

Stiles thought for a moment. He shook his head.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re a monster,” Derek said. “A vigilante, maybe, but not a monster.”

Stiles met his gaze, the light from the nearby lamp turning his dark brown irises into pools of gold as he looked at Derek.

Derek looked back at him, his stern features soft and his eyes sincere.

He reached out and took Stiles’ hands in his.

Stiles flinched at the warmth of the man’s touch, a shiver dragging itself down his spine, but he didn’t look away from Derek’s eyes.

Derek gently brushed the ball of his thumb across the back of Stiles’ hand, carefully caressing the tender pink mark from where the sunlight had burnt him days ago.

He leant in close, his face hovering centimetres from Stiles’. He waited for Stiles to push him away, but he didn’t.

He rested his forehead against Stiles’, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Stiles tilted his face, closing the distance between them and bringing their lips together in a tender, sweet kiss.

Derek lifted his hand to Stiles’ face, gently cupping his pale cheek. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he looped his arms around Derek’s neck, balling the fabric of his Henley into his fists and desperately clinging to him.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. He ran his tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip and moaned as he obediently opened his mouth to welcome Derek’s tongue.

Stiles sighed in return, lifting a hand to the nape of Derek’s neck. He wove his fingers into Derek’s hair, pulling soft tufts into his fist as the other hand running down the man’s shoulder, bicep and back, wanting to feel every inch of him.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go. He fell weak in Derek’s arms.

Derek drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He kissed him lightly, drawing away quickly as he craned his neck and placed a trail of kisses across the boy’s cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. He stayed there, gently sucking and nipping at Stiles’ pale skin and moles; brushing his teeth against them just hard enough to make the young man moan but not hard enough to leave a mark. He pressed soft kisses against the pale marks of the scars from when he’d been bitten before slowly trailing back up the curve of his neck and bringing his lips to Stiles’ again.

Stiles grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling Derek on top of him as he fell back against the couch cushions.

Derek shifted, straddling Stiles’ waist and pinning him against the sofa as they lost themselves the kiss.

Finally, Derek drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Stiles’ as the two of them fought to catch their breath.

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, his dark irises glowing with a burgundy hue.

Derek’s eyes lit up in return.

A fanged smirk slowly turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle, leaning forward and bringing their lips together again.

They stayed that way the rest of the night.

Words could not describe how beautiful Stiles was as he lay stretched out across the bed, the silvery moonlight illuminating his pale skin.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

They’d been together for months, but it felt like longer—it felt like they were meant to be together.

Derek rested his head on the pillow, staring lovingly into Stiles’ eyes as he ran his fingers down Stiles’ bare chest, down to where the rippling blanket covered his waist.

His soft fingertips brushed across the fading scar from where the bolt had impaled him. His hand lingered there for a moment, his soft expression turning to one of pain as he looked down at Stiles’ side.

“I never said thank you for that night,” Stiles said, his voice quiet.

“You didn’t have to,” Derek replied, looking back up at Stiles.

Stiles met his gaze. A soft smile played across his lips as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He gently cupped Derek’s cheek and leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender, loving kiss.

He drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Derek’s as he whispered, “Thank you.”

Derek smiled back at him, craning his neck and bringing their lips together again.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
